Harry Crosby and his Black Sun “Photoheliograph” poem

Special thanks to John M. Bennett for editorial input.

This is “Photoheliograph”, a poem by Harry Crosby. It was first published in 1928 in a poetry collection titled “Chariot of the Sun”. Harry Crosby was an interesting kind of person. Spoiled rich boy with magnetic charisma, eminent taste, uncanny sense of style, mystical edge and that sacramental nag-gnaw — he was one of the stranger fellas of the “make it new” age. He loved women, alcohol, higher states of mind and was basically an epitome of 20s poet self-destructive behavior. He was also founder and editor of Black Sun Press which published such luminaries as Ezra Pound, Hart Crane, James Joyce, D.H. Lawrence and even Ernest Hemingway.

“Photoheliograph” is rather oddball example of early concrete poetry from late 1920s. It consists of two words — “black” which is presented five times per line over the course of ten lines. Then in the very middle of the fifth line there is “SUN” all in capital letters. Burning bright and sticking out as a raised fist. And nothing else.

What makes it different from other concrete poems is the use of language or the lack thereof. It is straightforward and unimaginative. It means what it means and it doesn’t subvert the message in any way. It’s about Black Sun, end of story. Harry Crosby was a fan of Sol Niger concept, to the point he even had a black sun symbol tattoed on the sole of one of his feet. And this fascination needed the a proper form. Thus this minimal poem. Sol Niger is an alchemist term for the source of transformational matter, possibly unconscious in its raw state, hidden under cover of darkness of the mind. Common mystical belief is that chaos reigned before light dispelled it — “Photoheliograph” is miniature version of that act. It goes in and does the business.

But you can’t actually read “Photoheliograph”. Sure you can look at it and get something — but that’s not how it works. It’s not as much a poem as a spell that brings you to a certain state of mind. An ecstatic incantation that both dissipates and concentrates. The text itself is a score. You can chant it — create certain kind of vibrations that will switch the state of mind. But basically it is a transcribed capture of a heliographic visual morse code — that is a flickering sequence of lights. As in the morse code message — the text is very schematic and limited to the most important parts. You get a certain kind of rhythm with a slight variation in the middle. If you put that text into a light morse code interpreter — you will get the real poem. It is mesmerizing twinkle glimmer rampage and the aftershine will stay for long before your eyes and it will dance with the floaters for a while. Long story short — it is a nice experience to have.

From the visual aspect — it seems to be framed like a photograph. Negative photograph in particular. The stark contrast of “SUN” surrounded by “black” is akin to a burst. It definitely looks like a ASCII transposition of an image.

It is curious how the poem’s representation transformed and mutated over the years in the reprints. Typography has a critical impact on the poems momentary perception. Thickening or thinning of the font, the density of lines — all makes the poem feel a little bit different.

Here’s a version from Cary Nelson’s “Anthology of Modern American Poets”. Thick bodies of letters of “black” are glaring while the “SUN” is dilluted, dissipated by spacing:

And here’s how it looks in Jerome Rothenberg’s “Revolution of the Word”. Overall letters are thinner and it makes more of streamlike appearance so that the “SUN” seems to be surrounded by the immense number of blacks but still bumping out and taking over everything:

And here’s how it was transformed in Richard Kostelanetz “Dictionary of the Avantgardes”. While lines are kept intact — they are stretched out vertically by increased interline spacing thus turning it on its side. It also gives the poem more strobe light pace. It’s a process piece now. Every “black” now is on its own divided into short sequences. “SUN” is even more of an anomaly now — it breaks the flow for a moment and then things go as if nothing happened. It can go on whirling forever:

And here’s a little bit of line-breaking vandalism as presented in the book “Ladders to the Sun”. It reduces “Photoheliograph” to a string of words. Line breaks are changed so that the word “SUN” is now placed in the very end of line 2 and the whole thing is now more of a reverberation-laden phasing looping incantation of “black”:

“Photoheliograph” double-crosses language and its casual perception. It goes against and in the same time doubles up on the play of aesthetic features of the words. There is nothing to obscure — but then there is nothing really distinct. Crosby presents “Photoheliograph” as concentrated napalm jelly ready-to-go-in-your-mind. Words can mean something. But what if they will not? How about going beyond — towards something that is covered by words but in itself is completely unutterable though completely comprehensible? That is what “Photoheliograph” is designed for.